


Double Play

by annundriel



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Baseball, Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 18:10:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5014918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annundriel/pseuds/annundriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a triple winner of the Gold Glove for third base, Dorian has never been one to ride the pine. Riding the Bull, however, may be a different story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Double Play

The Bull doesn't look at him when the clubhouse is full, not like this, his eye half-lidded and dark, focused the way he gets on the field, body angled home. When their teammates are there, he glances at Dorian, catches his eye with a grin, looks over his shoulder. His gaze never lingers, slipping past him like oil on water, but leaves Dorian's skin buzzing regardless, humming like he's caught a hard hit line drive right down the baseline, the kind of play that stops a game in its tracks. Now they're alone, and Dorian can feel the Bull's eye on him, can feel the way it travels the breadth of his shoulders and length of his spine. He bends to untie his cleats, and he knows--he knows--the Bull's gaze is true.

Bent as he is, Dorian can't see the Bull behind him, but he can hear him moving closer. The back of his neck heats, and when he straightens, turning his head to look over his shoulder, the Bull is only a few feet away. He's shirtless, his hip cocked, a towel draped around his neck. His hands are wrapped around the ends of the towel, pulling it taut, and Dorian's reminded once again just how big they are, palms wide and fingers thick. Nothing gets by the Bull. Dorian swallows, and tries not to stare.

"You're here later than usual," Dorian says, shifting and turning his attention to his other cleat. He picks at the laces with shaking fingers, hoping Bull doesn't notice.

"So are you."

Dorian shrugs. "I'm in no hurry." And he isn't; there's nothing at home for him save a bed that feels too big some nights and a six pack of Ferelden beer.

A pause, and no answer from the Bull. Dorian twists and glances around his hip to find the Bull's eye on him, slipping from his ass to his face and staying there, sticking. "Neither am I," the Bull says, and Dorian's mouth goes dry, his heart thudding hard in his chest.

"Oh?"

The Bull's hips sway as he shifts his weight, drawing Dorian's eyes to the line of his waistband, the swell of his cock below. Suddenly, Dorian's mouth is no longer dry, and when his gaze flickers back up, the Bull's mouth is pulled into a smirk.

"You played quite a game there, Dorian," he says. "Impressive. You've got quite an--" He tilts his head to the side, examining. "Arm."

He'd thrown to Bull in the bottom of the seventh, straight over the mound, right into the Bull's glove as though it were magnetized, nothing on the field but the two of them and the ball between them, that strangely calm urgency of focus settling at third and first. It had been a good play, and the batter had been out, easy.

Dorian licks his lips, pretends he doesn't notice the Bull's eyes lingering, and straightens to kick off his cleats. "Not very observant are you," he says, hands dropping to his fly as he turns, a smirk forming on his own face. "Thought you noticed everythi--" Maker, the Bull is big and standing close, closer. Eye-level with the Bull's pecs, Dorian swallows hard, then looks up, up. He follows the line of Bull's sternum to the dip of his collarbone, up his thick neck to his dribbled jaw, his tilted mouth. The knowing look in his eye.

Nothing gets by the Bull.

"Uh."

"I observe plenty."

The Bull's fingers flex, his grip shifting. In his mind's eye, Dorian sees those hands wrapped around other things; the bat, bottles of beer, his cock. Not that Dorian has ever--Not that he's--His eyes flick downwards, and he curses himself inwardly. The Bull grins.

"You need to relax, Dorian," he says, stepping closer, crowding Dorian against his locker. Heat comes off of him in waves, and Dorian's cheeks flush as he reminds himself to breathe. "I can help you with that." The Bull pauses, straightening a little, his face suddenly serious. "If you want."

"Yes, I--Yes." How quickly he answers should be embarrassing, but he doesn't care, not when the Iron Bull is looking at him, and looking at him like _that_ , as open and honest and focused as Dorian's ever seen him. He shakes himself, feels the wood of the locker against his back.

The Bull's smile is bright. "Yeah," he says, "that's what I thought," and then one end of the towel is released, sliding from the Bull's neck with a soft sound as he touches fingers to Dorian's chin, tilts his head just so. Bends down and fits their mouths together.

 _Kaffas_.

Dorian shudders, caught between the wood and the Bull's chest, pinned by the hand on his jaw and the lips covering his own. They're warm, and slightly chapped, and wonderfully...wonderfully...Maker, they're everything Dorian had thought they might be, the fit just right, the pressure just perfect. The tip of Bull's tongue teases the seam of his mouth, and Dorian sighs, hands coming up to press against all that naked skin as he parts his lips and lets the Bull in. Moans as their tongues touch in soft heat of his mouth. Dorian shifts, his fingers tightening against the Bull as he sucks on his tongue, cock hardening at the sound of the Bull moaning low in the back of his throat.

He's not alone in this, he's not. The thought ignites within him, a spark on dry tinder, and his hands are moving up the Bull's chest, smoothing around his shoulders to the back of his neck. Pulling him close, closer, groaning as the Bull's arm comes around him, wide hand settling on the small of Dorian's back, hot through his uniform, his front hot all along Dorian's. Against his hip, Dorian can feel the Bull's cock swelling, and all he can think about is the fact that Bull's cup is gone, that there are only layers of clothing between them. That the Bull _thought about this_ and prepared accordingly.

Dorian groans and pulls away with a _Fuck_ , the back of his head thudding against the locker frame. The Bull chuckles against him, low and rumbling through Dorian, leaving him shaking, shaken as the Bull's lips trail across his jaw, following the line of it to nip at his ear. Dorian jumps, fingers digging into the Bull's shoulders, and his cock throbs as the Bull's tongue teases his skin, moving to mouth down the column of his neck.

"I'm going to blow you," the Bull says, lips brushing Dorian's Adam's apple as he pauses to suck at it. His voice is hushed and rough, and Dorian wants to wrap himself in it and never leave. "You want that, Dorian?"

"Nngh." He swallows. Tries again, pushing his hips toward the Bull, his erection straining. "Yes," he says. "Thought nothing got by you."

The Bull's breath huffs against him. "Like to hear you say it."

Dorian's fingers twitch. "Oh? You've--You've thought about it, have you?"

The Bull bites at his neck, grins. It feels predatory, and Dorian can't help the shiver that shakes through him. "Every fucking day," the Bull says, and falls to his knees in the clubhouse, big hands moving to bracket Dorian's hips, holding him steady as he leans forward to press his face against the bulge of Dorian's cock, nuzzling at him through his uniform.

It's been longer than Dorian cares to admit since someone was on their knees before him, longer still since someone looked at him like _that_. How will he be able to look at the Bull across the field, across the dugout, the locker room? No wonder Bull's eye never lingers, if this is what he's been keeping back, his gaze hot and dark. Dorian hadn't realized, all those times in the clubhouse, that the Bull's sliding gaze was more than quick desire, want flashing fast as lightning, there and gone again. He feels electrified, knowing this now. He feels on fire.

"Bull," he says, voice thick. "Bull, I--"

At his hip, the Bull's breath warms him, a big thumb sweeping back and forth, back and forth, pressure just so. "You're a little over-dressed, don't you think?" His hands move from Dorian's hips to the fastening of his pants, undoing and unzipping him quickly, and before Dorian can blink his cup is on the floor, and the Bull is mouthing him through uniform and jockstrap.

"Maker's--fuck!" Dorian's fingers find the Bull's head, scrabbling at the demarcation of skin and horn. The Bull's breath is damp against him, lips teasing lines along the shaft of his cock. A nuzzle, and it's only the strap between them, Bull's tongue tracing the length of him before stopping to suck at the head. The cotton clings to Dorian, just this side of rough on his skin, and he squirms, his fingers moving against the crown of the Bull's head. Unsure if he wants to pull him closer or push him away, if he wants the feel of that mouth on his skin now, or to savor the tease, the moment right before the play when you know--you _know_ \--it's going to be a good one.

The Bull's breath huffs against him. "I can taste you," he says, looking up. "Taste you leaking. You've thought about this; me on my knees, your cock in my mouth." He nuzzles at Dorian again, nosing at his shaft, breathing him in. "I'm very good, Dorian."

Dorian shudders, sweat pricking at his temples and the small of his back. His jersey sticks, and all he can think about is the Bull peeling it off of him. Had he known, had he only known..."Prove it."

A grin, bright and dangerous, teeth flashing, and the Bull's lips fit around the head of his cock, molding the fabric against Dorian. Dorian's hips jerk, the Bull groaning against him, stilling Dorian with his wide hands, and Dorian thinks this is what it's like to be caught by the Iron Bull, to be pinned by him. _This_ is the focus nothing gets past.

"Bull," Dorian pants, heart thudding wildly. "Bull."

"Yeah," the Bull answers. "Yeah." He sounds as wrecked as Dorian does, voice thick and rough. His hands move from Dorian's hips to pull his pants lower, just low enough, and then his fingers are against Dorian's skin, tugging at the jockstrap, moving it out of the way.

Cock free, Dorian sighs, air rushing out of him in something like relief and something like anticipation. The Bull's breath gusts over him, and Dorian opens his mouth not so much to beg but to demand he stop teasing when the Bull looks up at him and takes him into his mouth.

"Fuck!" He wants to thrust, wants to fuck forward into that wet heat, but the Bull's hands are back on his hips, holding him steady, holding him still. The Bull's lips wrap around him, his tongue cradling, and Dorian's hands pull at the Bull's horns.

Which gets him the opposite result; instead of taking him deeper, the Bull backs off, the tip of his tongue playing at the crown as lightning zings up Dorian's spine. The Bull pulls off and releases Dorian's hip. He wraps his newly freed hand around the base of Dorian's cock, and all Dorian can think about--perversely--is the Bull at bat, great hands gripped tight around wood, feet planted, body focused. All he can think about is the movement of that body as the ball comes toward him, the shifting of muscles beneath the uniform, the change of his grip as he swings.

He'll never be able to watch the Bull during batting practice again, that's clear. And he'll have to be careful during games, he thinks, before amending it to _they_ when the Bull's calloused palm shifts against him. His thumb sweeps up to brush over the head, spreading precome and spit, and Dorian's body tightens.

"You're close already, aren't you?" the Bull asks, before tilting his head and licking a stripe along the side of the shaft. His eye never leaves Dorian. "I've thought about this, too, you know." Breath whispering against damp skin. "Before you were traded. Thought about getting on my knees. Thought about you on yours."

He strokes Dorian, fingers loose, his lips just out of reach, his other hand keeping Dorian's hip from moving. Dorian pants, staring down at him, heart and mind racing. What would he have done, had the Bull found him alone in the visitor's clubhouse? In the corner of a bar? Would he have taken him home, gotten on his knees and teased the way the Bull teases him now?

 _Of course_ , he thinks. _Of course. You've been waiting for this, Pavus. You don't have to wait any more_.

"I bet you did," he says, hand moving to touch the Bull's cheek, fingers brushing the corner of his mouth.

"Pretty mouth like yours, pretty ass, how could I not?"

Dorian chuckles. He feels elated, the feeling reminded of that first hit after he was called up to the majors. His first time at bat with the Magisters, and he'd hit it into the stands, the crowd going wild. It's just the two of them here, himself and Bull, but there's a roaring in his blood like the crowd and Dorian's rounding third.

"Later, huh?" Dorian says. "My place?"

The Bull's lips stretch into a smile, and he nods, turning to nuzzle at Dorian's palm. "You want to ride the Bull, Dorian?"

"Maker's balls, not if you--" The rest is lost to a moan as the Bull's mouth closes around him again. His fingers tighten around the shaft before disappearing, making room for the Bull's lips as he swallows him down. When he reaches the base, his hand returns to Dorian's hip, breath heating Dorian's skin. He'll have bruises at his hips in the morning (bruises elsewhere, too, he hopes). He'll touch them in the shower, water sluicing down his body, and the shower--and his bed--won't seem so big, not with the Bull in them.

"Bull," he says, fingers pressed to hot skin. He'll leave marks of his own, later, in the shape of his fingers and mouth. Roll the Bull over, show him what else Dorian's good at. "You're so good, you're so--"

The Bull hums, vibrating on every one of Dorian's frequencies, and Dorian's breath catches in his throat, his heart stuttering. Body straining, he comes with a groan, one hand wrapped around one of the Bull's horns, holding on, holding himself up. Grateful for the Bull bent in front of him, his solid presence grounding even as he drives Dorian over the edge, swallowing around him.

When Dorian blinks his eyes open and looks down, it's to the Bull mouthing the line of his hip, sucking a mark there at the curve. From this vantage point, Dorian can just see--if he tilts his head--the head of Bull's cock peeking out of his hand as he jerks himself off, breathing coming faster and faster as he works himself. Dorian presses a hand to the Bull's cheek, hoping the Bull doesn't notice the trembling in his fingers, sure that he's otherwise occupied.

"Come on," he says. "Bull, come on."

The Bull grunts, teeth scraping Dorian's skin, shooting into the palm of his own hand. Dorian feels a twinge of regret that it wasn't his, that he wasn't able to do more for the Bull, but as the Bull leans back to look up at him, smile blooming on his face, Dorian knows there will be time for that later.

"Ride the Bull, huh?" Dorian's thumb traces the Bull's bottom lip. He wants to; he can imagine it now, the ache in his thighs as he sits astride him, cock buried deep. The Bull looking up at him, hands steady, chest flushed. It's a sight Dorian wants to see.

The Bull nips at the pad of his thumb. "Among other things," he says, leaning forward to nuzzle at Dorian's spent cock. "If you think you can handle it."

Pushing the Bull away just enough, Dorian bends down, meets him eye to eye. He can smell himself on the Bull's skin. Can't wait to smell the Bull on his. "Bring it on."


End file.
